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Our Souls Sit Close And Silently Within, And Their Own Web From Their Own Entrails Spin; And When Eyes Meet Far Off, Our Sense Is Such, That, Spider-like, We Feel The Tenderest Touch.

-John Dryden

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Our Souls Sit Close

John Dryden

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Our Souls Sit Close And Silently Within, And Their Own Web From Their Own Entrails Spin; And When Eyes Meet Far Off, Our Sense Is Such, That, Spider-like, We Feel The Tenderest Touch.

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Men's Virtues I Have Commended As Freely As I Have Taxed Their Crimes.

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.

Successful Crimes Alone Are Justified.

As Poetry Is The Harmony Of Words, So Music Is That Of Notes.

And That One Hunting, Which The Devil Design'd For One Fair Female, Lost Him Half The Kind.

Ill Fortune Seldom Comes Alone.

Government Itself At Length Must Fall To Nature's State, Where All Have Right To All.

How Easy It Is To Call Rogue And Villain, And That Wittily! But How Hard To Make A Man Appear A Fool, A Blockhead, Or A Knave, Without Using Any Of Those Opprobrious Terms! Tosparethegrossness Ofthenames, And To Dothe Thing Yet Moreseverely, Isto Drawa Full Face, And Tomake The Nose And Cheeks Stand Out, And Yet Not To Employ Any Depth Of Shadowing.

Love Is Love's Reward.

Pleasure Never Comes Sincere To Man; But Lent By Heaven Upon Hard Usury.

Happy The Man, And Happy He Alone, He Who Can Call Today His Own; He Who, Secure Within, Can Say, Tomorrow Do Thy Worst, For I Have Lived Today.

Discover The Opinion Of Your Enemies, Which Is Commonly The Truest; For They Will Give You No Quarter, And Allow Nothing To Complaisance.

Let Grace And Goodness Be The Principal Loadstone Of Thy Affections.

He Is A Perpetual Fountain Of Good Sense.

Ah, How Sweet It Is To Love! Ah, How Gay Is Young Desire! And What Pleasing Pains We Prove When We First Approach Love's Fire!

If You Have Lived, Take Thankfully The Past. Make, As You Can, The Sweet Remembrance Last.

While I Am Compassed Round With Mirth, My Soul Lies Hid In Shades Of Grief, Whence, Like The Bird Of Night, With Half-shut Eyes, She Peeps, And Sickens At The Sight Of Day.

Affability, Mildness, Tenderness, And A Word Which I Would Fain Bring Back To Its Original Signification Of Virtue,--i Mean Good-nature,--are Of Daily Use; They Are The Bread Of Mankind And Staff Of Life.

Like Pilgrims To Th' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

He Who Trusts Secrets To A Servant Makes Him His Master

Keeping Secrets

Uncertain Whose The Narrowest Span,--the Clown Unread, Or Half-read Gentleman.

Music, Music For A While Shall All Your Cares Beguile. Alexander's Feast

He Has Not Learned The First Lesson Of Life Who Does Not Every Day Surmount A Fear.

The Brave Man Seeks Not Popular Applause, Nor, Overpower'd With Arms, Deserts His Cause; Unsham'd, Though Foil'd, He Does The Best He Can, Force Is Of Brutes, But Honor Is Of Man.

Even Kings But Play; And When Their Part Is Done, Some Other, Worse Or Better, Mounts The Throne.

None But The Brave Deserve The Fair.

Every Age Has A Kind Of Universal Genius, Which Inclines Those That Live In It To Some Particular Studies.

The Soft Complaining Flute, In Dying Notes, Discovers The Woes Of Hopeless Lovers.

New Vows To Plight, And Plighted Vows To Break.

The Propriety Of Thoughts And Words, Which Are The Hidden Beauties Of A Play, Are But Confusedly Judged In The Vehemence Of Action.

All Objects Lose By Too Familiar A View.

Content With Poverty, My Soul I Arm; And Virtue, Though In Rags, Will Keep Me Warm.

Bacchus Ever Fair And Young, Drinking Joys Did First Ordain. Bachus's Blessings Are A Treasure, Drinking Is The Soldier's Pleasure, Rich The Treasure, Sweet The Pleasure- Sweet Is Pleasure After Pain.

Keen Appetite And Quick Digestion Wait On You And Yours.

Sure There Is None But Fears A Future State; And When The Most Obdurate Swear They Do Not, Their Trembling Hearts Belie Their Boasting Tongues.

A Good Conscience Is A Port Which Is Landlocked On Every Side, Where No Winds Can Possibly Invade. There A Man May Not Only See His Own Image, But That Of His Maker, Clearly Reflected From The Undisturbed Waters.

When He Spoke, What Tender Words He Used! So Softly, That Like Flakes Of Feathered Snow, They Melted As They Fell.

Welcome, Thou Kind Deceiver! Thou Best Of Thieves; Who, With An Easy Key, Dost Open Life, And, Unperceived By Us, Even Steal Us From Ourselves.

Courage From Hearts And Not From Numbers Grows.

He Who Trusts A Secret To His Servant Makes His Own Man His Master.

She, Though In Full-blown Flower Of Glorious Beauty, Grows Cold Even In The Summer Of Her Age.

Death Ends Our Woes, And The Kind Grave Shuts Up The Mournful Scene.

Let Cheerfulness On Happy Fortune Wait.

Pride - Lord Of Human Kind

For Those Whom God To Ruin Has Design'd, He Fits For Fate, And First Destroys Their Mind.

If Thou Dost Still Retain The Same Ill Habits, The Same Follies, Too, Still Thou Art Bound To Vice, And Still A Slave.

All Things Are Subject To Decay And When Fate Summons, Monarchs Must Obey.

Whatever Is, Is In Its Causes Just.

Learn To Write Well, Or Not To Write At All.

Virgil, Above All Poets, Had A Stock Which I May Call Almost Inexhaustible, Of Figurative, Elegant, And Sounding Words.

Freedom Which In No Other Land Will Thrive, Freedom An English Subject's Sole Prerogative.

Doeg, Though Without Knowing How Or Why, Made Still A Blundering Kind Of Melody; Spurr'd Boldly On, And Dash'd Through Thick And Thin, Through Sense And Nonsense, Never Out Nor In; Free From All Meaning Whether Good Or Bad, And In One Word, Heroically Mad.

All Authors To Their Own Defects Are Blind.

For What Can Power Give More Than Food And Drink, To Live At Ease, And Not Be Bound To Think?

The True Amphitryon Is The Amphitryon Where We Dine.

The Thought Of Being Nothing After Death Is A Burden Insupportable To A Virtuous Man.

But When To Sin Our Biased Nature Leans, The Careful Devil Is Still At Hand With Means; And Providently Pimps For Ill Desires.

Many Things Impossible To Thought Have Been By Need To Full Perfection Brought.

Either Be Wholly Slaves Or Wholly Free.

Thou Strong Seducer, Opportunity!

Seas Are The Fields Of Combat For The Winds; But When They Sweep Along Some Flowery Coast, Their Wings Move Mildly, And Their Rage Is Lost.

We Can Never Be Grieved For Their Miseries Who Are Thoroughly Wicked, And Have Thereby Justly Called Their Calamities On Themselves.

How Blessed Is He, Who Leads A Country Life, Unvex'd With Anxious Cares, And Void Of Strife! Who Studying Peace, And Shunning Civil Rage, Enjoy'd His Youth, And Now Enjoys His Age: All Who Deserve His Love, He Makes His Own; And, To Be Lov'd Himself, Needs Only To Be Known.

Imitation Pleases, Because It Affords Matter For Inquiring Into The Truth Or Falsehood Of Imitation, By Comparing Its Likeness Or Unlikeness With The Original.

Shame On The Body For Breaking Down While The Spirit Perseveres.

Rhyme Is The Rock On Which Thou Art To Wreck.

The Commendation Of Adversaries Is The Greatest Triumph Of A Writer, Because It Never Comes Unless Extorted.

Restless At Home, And Ever Prone To Range.

Murder May Pass Unpunishd For A Time, But Tardy Justice Will Oertake The Crime.

Imagining Is In Itself The Very Height And Life Of Poetry, Which, By A Kind Of Enthusiasm Or Extraordinary Emotion Of The Soul, Makes It Seem To Us That We Behold Those Things Which The Poet Paints.

For They Can Conquer Who Believe They Can.

Repentance Is The Virtue Of Weak Minds.

Desire Of Power, On Earth A Vicious Weed, Yet, Sprung From High, Is Of Celestial Seed: In God 'tisglory; And When Men Aspire, 'tis But A Spark Too Much Of Heavenly Fire.

The Trumpet's Loud Clangor Excites Us To Arms.

The Fortitude Of A Christian Consists In Patience, Not In Enterprises Which The Poets Call Heroic, And Which Are Commonly The Effects Of Interest, Pride And Worldly Honor.

…so When The Last And Dreadful Hour This Crumbling Pageant Shall Devour, The Trumpet Shall Be Heard On High, The Dead Shall Live, The Living Die, And Music Shall Untune The Sky

Those Who Write Ill, And They Who Ne'er Durst Write, Turn Critics Out Of Mere Revenge And Spite.

Pity Only On Fresh Objects Stays, But With The Tedious Sight Of Woes Decays.

Our Vows Are Heard Betimes! And Heaven Takes Care To Grant, Before We Can Conclude The Prayer: Preventing Angels Met It Half The Way, And Sent Us Back To Praise, Who Came To Pray.

Let Grace And Goodness Be The Principal Loadstone Of Thy Affections. For Love Which Hath Ends, Will Have An End; Whereas That Which Is Founded On True Virtue, Will Always Continue.

Bankrupt Of Life, Yet Prodigal Of Ease.

When Beauty Fires The Blood, How Love Exalts The Mind!

Great Souls Forgive Not Injuries Till Time Has Put Their Enemies Within Their Power, That They May Show Forgiveness Is Their Own.

Never Was Patriot Yet, But Was A Fool.

None Would Live Past Years Again, Yet All Hope Pleasure In What Yet Remain; And, From The Dregs Of Life, Think To Receive, What The First Sprightly Running Could Not Give.

Words Are But Pictures Of Our Thoughts.

Youth Should Watch Joys And Shoot Them As They Fly.

The Scum That Rises Upmost, When The Nation Boils.

When We View Elevated Ideas Of Nature, The Result Of That View Is Admiration, Which Is Always The Cause Of Pleasure.

But Shakespeare's Magic Could Not Copied Be; Within That Circle None Durst Walk But He.

Trust Reposed In Noble Natures Obliges Them The More.

My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart Is Free.

That, If The Gentiles, (whom No Law Inspir'd,) By Nature Did What Was By Law Requir'd; They, Who The Written Rule And Never Known, Were To Themselves Both Rule And Law Alone: To Natures Plain Indictment They Shall Plead; And, By Their Conscience, Be Condemn'd Or Freed.

Who Climbs The Grammar-tree, Distinctly Knows Where Noun, And Verb, And Participle Grows.

From Harmony, From Heav'nly Harmony. This Universal Frame Began.

They Live Too Long Who Happiness Outlive.

The Jews, A Headstrong, Moody, Murmuring Race.

Could Swell The Soul To Rage, Or Kindle Soft Desire.

Nothing To Build, And All Things To Destroy.

Inspire The Vocal Brass, Inspire; The World Is Past Its Infant Age: Arms And Honour, Arms And Honour, Set The Martial Mind On Fire, And Kindle Manly Rage.

Is It Not Evident, In These Last Hundred Years (when The Study Of Philosophy Has Been The Business Of All The Virtuosi In Christendome) That Almost A New Nature Has Been Revealed To Us? That More Errours Of The School Have Been Detected, More Useful Experiments In Philosophy Have Been Made, More Noble Secrets In Opticks, Medicine, Anatomy, Astronomy, Discover'd, Than In All Those Credulous And Doting Ages From Aristotle To Us? So True It Is That Nothing Spreads More Fast Than Science, When Rightly And Generally Cultivated.

A Brave Man Scorns To Quarrel Once A Day; Like Hectors In At Every Petty Fray.

Love Is A Child That Talks In Broken Language, Yet Then He Speaks Most Plain.

Virgil And Horace [were] The Severest Writers Of The Severest Age.

A Farce Is That In Poetry Which Grotesque (caricature) Is In Painting. The Persons And Actions Of A Farce Are All Unnatural, And The Manners False, That Is, Inconsistent With The Characters Of Mankind; And Grotesque Painting Is The Just Resemblance Of This.

Boldness Is A Mask For Fear, However Great.

Boldness And Courage

A Lively Faith Will Bear Aloft The Mind, And Leave The Luggage Of Good Works Behind.

I'm A Little Wounded, But I Am Not Slain; I Will Lay Me Down To Bleed A While. Then I'll Rise And Fight Again.

Virtue In Distress, And Vice In Triumph Make Atheists Of Mankind.

My Whole Life Has Been A Golden Dream Of Love And Friendship.

Love And Friendship

Chaucer Followed Nature Everywhere, But Was Never So Bold To Go Beyond Her.

Love Reckons Hours For Months, And Days For Years; And Every Little Absence Is An Age.

Long Distance Relationship

For All Have Not The Gift Of Martyrdom.

The Conscience Of A People Is Their Power.

But 'tis The Talent Of Our English Nation, Still To Be Plotting Some New Reformation.

Fortune Confounds The Wise, And When They Least Expect It Turns The Dice.

Self-defense Is Nature's Eldest Law.

For My Part, I Can Compare Her (a Gossip) To Nothing But The Sun; For, Like Him, She Knows No Rest, Nor Ever Sets In One Place But To Rise In Another.

If You Are For A Merry Jaunt, I Will Try, For Once, Who Can Foot It Farthest.

What I Have Left Is From My Native Spring; I've Still A Heart That Swells, In Scorn Of Fate, And Lifts Me To My Banks.

Home Is The Sacred Refuge Of Our Life.

Among Our Crimes Oblivion May Be Set.

Thus All Below Is Strength, And All Above Is Grace.

Fiction Is Of The Essence Of Poetry As Well As Of Painting; There Is A Resemblance In One Of Human Bodies, Things, And Actions Which Are Not Real, And In The Other Of A True Story By Fiction.

Be Slow To Resolve, But Quick In Performance.

Thou Spring'st A Leak Already In Thy Crown, A Flaw Is In Thy Ill-bak'd Vessel Found; 'tis Hollow, And Returns A Jarring Sound, Yet Thy Moist Clay Is Pliant To Command, Unwrought, And Easy To The Potter's Hand: Now Take The Mould; Now Bend Thy Mind To Feel The First Sharp Motions Of The Forming Wheel.

I Am Reading Jonson's Verses To The Memory Of Shakespeare; An Insolent, Sparing, And Invidious Panegyric.

Few Know The Use Of Life Before 'tis Past.

Imagination In A Poet Is A Faculty So Wild And Lawless That, Like A High Ranging Spaniel, It Must Have Clogs Tied To It, Lest It Outrun The Judgment. The Great Easiness Of Blank Verse Renders The Poet Too Luxuriant. He Is Tempted To Say Many Things Which Might Better Be Omitted, Or, At Least Shut Up In Fewer Words.

Politicians Neither Love Nor Hate.

Tomorrow Do Thy Worst, For I Have Lived Today: Be Fair Or Foul Or Rain Or Shine, The Joys I Have Possessed In Spite Of Fate Are Mine. Not Heaven Itself Upon The Past Has Power; But What Has Been Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.

God Has Endowed Man With Inalienable Rights, Among Which Are Self-government, Reason, And Conscience. Man Is Properly Self-governed Only When He Is Guided Rightly And Governed By His Maker, Divine Truth And Love.

I Trade Both With The Living And The Dead, For The Enrichment Of Our Native Language.

Native Language

Dreams Are But Interludes That Fancy Makes... Sometimes Forgotten Things, Long Cast Behind Rush Forward In The Brain, And Come To Mind.

Forgotten Things

The Blushing Beauties Of A Modest Maid.

To Take Up Half On Trust, And Half To Try, Name It Not Faith But Bungling Bigotry.

Kings Fight For Empires, Madmen For Applause.

When Bounteous Autumn Rears Her Head, He Joys To Pull The Ripened Pear.

For Art May Err, But Nature Cannot Miss.

Maintain Your Post: That's All The Fame You Need; For 'tis Impossible You Should Proceed.

A Thing Well Said Will Be Wit In All Languages.

The Bravest Men Are Subject Most To Chance.

Griefs Assured Are Felt Before They Come.

All Delays Are Dangerous In War.

It Is Almost Impossible To Translate Verbally And Well At The Same Time; For The Latin (a Most Severe And Compendious Language) Often Expresses That In One Word Which Either The Barbarity Or The Narrowness Of Modern Tongues Cannot Supply In More. ...but Since Every Language Is So Full Of Its Own Proprieties That What Is Beautiful In One Is Often Barbarous, Nay, Sometimes Nonsense, In Another, It Would Be Unreasonable To Limit A Translator To The Narrow Compass Of His Author's Words; It Is Enough If He Choose Out Some Expression Which Does Not Vitiate The Sense.

Go Miser Go, For Money Sell Your Soul. Trade Wares For Wares And Trudge From Pole To Pole, So Others May Say When You Are Dead And Gone. See What A Vast Estate He Left His Son.

Since Every Man Who Lives Is Born To Die, And None Can Boast Sincere Felicity, With Equal Mind, What Happens, Let Us Bear, Nor Joy Nor Grieve Too Much For Things Beyond Our Care. Like Pilgrims To The' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

Good Heaven, Whose Darling Attribute We Find Is Boundless Grace, And Mercy To Mankind, Abhors The Cruel.

Grace And Mercy

Ye Moon And Stars, Bear Witness To The Truth.

Faith Is To Believe What You Do Not Yet See: The Reward For This Faith Is To See What You Believe. Thus All Below Is Strength, And All Above Is Grace.

There's A Proud Modesty In Merit; Averse From Asking, And Resolved To Pay Ten Times The Gifts It Asks.

Fame Then Was Cheap, And The First Comer Sped; And They Have Kept It Since By Being Dead.

He Who Would Search For Pearls Must Dive Below.

Satire Among The Romans, But Not Among The Greeks, Was A Bitter Invective Poem.

Whistling To Keep Myself From Being Afraid.

Rich The Treasure, Sweet The Pleasure,- Sweet Is Pleasure After Pain.

Happy, Happy, Happy Pair! None But The Brave Deserves The Fair.

Not Sharp Revenge, Nor Hell Itself Can Find, A Fiercer Torment Than A Guilty Mind, Which Day And Night Doth Dreadfully Accuse, Condemns The Wretch, And Still The Charge Renews.

My Right Eye Itches, Some Good Luck Is Near.

The Wretched Have No Friends.

Time And Death Shall Depart And Say In Flying Love Has Found Out A Way To Live, By Dying.

He Wants Worth Who Dares Not Praise A Foe.

Criticism Is Now Become Mere Hangman's Work, And Meddles Only With The Faults Of Authors ; Nay, The Critic Is Disgusted Less With Their Absurdities Than Excellence ; And You Cannot Displease Him More Than In Leaving Him Little Room For His Malice.

Beware The Fury Of A Patient Man.

Present Joys Are More To Flesh And Blood Than A Dull Prospect Of A Distant Good.

Prodigious Actions May As Well Be Done, By Weaver's Issue, As The Prince's Son.

Roused By The Lash Of His Own Stubborn Tail Our Lion Now Will Foreign Foes Assail.

All, As They Say, That Glitters Is Not Gold.

With Odorous Oil Thy Head And Hair Are Sleek; And Then Thou Kemb'st The Tuzzes On Thy Cheek: Of These, My Barbers Take A Costly Care.

Silence In Times Of Suffering Is The Best.

Sure There's Contagion In The Tears Of Friends.

Beauty, Like Ice, Our Footing Does Betray; Who Can Tread Sure On The Smooth, Slippery Way: Pleased With The Surface, We Glide Swiftly On, And See The Dangers That We Cannot Shun.

I Never Saw Any Good That Came Of Telling Truth.

Telling The Truth

Thus, While The Mute Creation Downward Bend Their Sight, And To Their Earthly Mother Ten, Man Looks Aloft; And With Erected Eyes Beholds His Own Hereditary Skies.

And That The Scriptures, Though Not Everywhere Free From Corruption, Or Entire, Or Clear, Are Uncorrupt, Sufficient, Clear, Entire In All Things Which Our Needful Faith Require.

Since A True Knowledge Of Nature Gives Us Pleasure, A Lively Imitation Of It, Either In Poetry Or Painting, Must Produce A Much Greater; For Both These Arts Are Not Only True Imitations Of Nature, But Of The Best Nature.

The People Have A Right Supreme To Make Their Kings, For Kings Are Made For Them. All Empire Is No More Than Pow'r In Trust, Which When Resum'd, Can Be No Longer Just. Successionm For The General Good Design'd, In Its Own Wrong A Nation Cannot Bind.

He Is The Very Janus Of Poets; He Wears Almost Everywhere Two Faces; And You Have Scarce Begun To Admire The One, Ere You Despise The Other.

And Love's The Noblest Frailty Of The Mind.

Damn'd Neuters, In Their Middle Way Of Steering, Are Neither Fish, Nor Flesh, Nor Good Red Herring.

Reason Is A Crutch For Age, But Youth Is Strong Enough To Walk Alone.

Revenge, Revenge, Timotheus Cries, See The Furies Arise!

Anger Will Never Disappear So Long As Thoughts Of Resentment Are Cherished In The Mind. Anger Will Disappear Just As Soon As Thoughts Of Resentment Are Forgotten.

We Must Beat The Iron While It Is Hot, But We May Polish It At Leisure.

And He, Who Servilely Creeps After Sense, Is Safe, But Ne'er Will Reach An Excellence.

Tis Fate That Flings The Dice, And As She Flings Of Kings Makes Peasants, And Of Peasants Kings.

Want Is A Bitter And A Hateful Good, Because Its Virtues Are Not Understood; Yet Many Things, Impossible To Thought, Have Been By Need To Full Perfection Brought. The Daring Of The Soul Proceeds From Thence, Sharpness Of Wit, And Active Diligence; Prudence At Once, And Fortitude It Gives; And, If In Patience Taken, Mends Our Lives.

Softly Sweet, In Lydian Measures, Soon He Sooth'd His Soul To Pleasures. War, He Sung, Is Toil And Trouble; Honour But An Empty Bubble; Never Ending, Still Beginning, Fighting Still, And Still Destroying. If All The World Be Worth The Winning, Think, Oh Think It Worth Enjoying: Lovely Thais Sits Beside Thee, Take The Good The Gods Provide Thee.

Even Victors Are By Victories Undone.

When I Consider Life, 'tis All A Cheat; Yet, Fooled With Hope, Men Favour The Deceit; Trust On, And Think Tomorrow Will Repay. Tomorrow's Falser Than The Former Day.

All Habits Gather By Unseen Degrees.

Swift Was The Race, But Short The Time To Run.

'tis A Good Thing To Laugh At Any Rate; And If A Straw Can Tickle A Man, It Is An Instrument Of Happiness.

A Happy Genius Is The Gift Of Nature.

Men Met Each Other With Erected Look, The Steps Were Higher That They Took; Friends To Congratulate Their Friends Made Haste, And Long Inveterate Foes Saluted As They Pass'd.

Heroic Poetry Has Ever Been Esteemed The Greatest Work Of Human Nature.

When I Consider Life, 't Is All A Cheat. Yet Fool'd With Hope, Men Favour The Deceit; Trust On, And Think To-morrow Will Repay. To-morrow 's Falser Than The Former Day; Lies Worse, And While It Says We Shall Be Blest With Some New Joys, Cuts Off What We Possest. Strange Cozenage! None Would Live Past Years Again, Yet All Hope Pleasure In What Yet Remain; And From The Dregs Of Life Think To Receive What The First Sprightly Running Could Not Give.

A Satirical Poet Is The Check Of The Laymen On Bad Priests.

Calms Appear, When Storms Are Past; Love Will Have His Hour At Last: Nature Is My Kindly Care; Mars Destroys, And I Repair; Take Me, Take Me, While You May, Venus Comes Not Ev'ry Day.

Pains Of Love Be Sweeter Far Than All Other Pleasures Are.

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